Between The Griffon and Met Life

I am totally enamored of every person passing in this unseasonably warm mid-March evening near 39th and Park

 

The young women, of course, with their lives in front of them, and the young men too, just standing here as I am, checking it out, hanging out, talking

 

But everyone here, every age, every type, is beautiful, the moment, somehow, the weather, has made them all real and for this moment, before it turns to night, they're all fantastic

 

The light is such that I can see everyone and can imagine what they are imagining for the night ahead, what dreams, what fulfilled fantasies of togetherness

 

And the two guys who were here a moment ago, paused, have moved on, and the light is deepening, every moment or so, actually falling into a deeper stupor, which is night

 

But if I look south I still see the pink flush of desire there at the bottom, the southness of all our lives, and it's okay that it's darkening here, people accept it as they concoct plans for tonight, Thursday

 

Soon I'll have to go too, lose this spot, this moment, but some we've met and some experience we had somewhere else is becoming ever more important